“We don’t actually have any colonies yet,” said Peter. “The ships are all still in transit and will be until we’re all dead. But by the time they arrive, I’d like them to send their ansible messages back home to an Earth that is united under a single democratic government.”

“It’s the democratic part I missed,” said Petra. “Who elected you?”

“Since I don’t have any actual authority over anybody, Petra, how can it possibly matter if I’m not legitimately authorized?”

“You argue like a debater,” she said. “You don’t actually have to have an idea, you just have to have a seemingly clever refutation.”

“And you argue like a nine-year-old,” said Peter. “Sticking your fingers in your ears and going ‘La la la’ and ‘same to you.’”

Petra looked like she wanted to slap him. Instead she put her fingers in her ears and said, “Same to you” and “La la la.”

He did not laugh. Instead he reached out a hand, intending to pull her arm away from her ear. But she whirled around and kicked his hand so hard that he thought she might have broken his wrist. As it was, he staggered and stumbled over the corner of the bed in his hotel room and ended up on his butt on the floor.

“There’s the Hegemon of Earth,” said Petra.

“Where’s your camera? Don’t you want this to be public?”

“If I wanted to destroy you, you’d be destroyed.”

“Petra, I didn’t send Bean into that compound. Bean sent himself.”

“You let him go.”

“Yes I did, and in any event I was proven right.”

“But you didn’t know he’d live. I was carrying his baby and you sent him in to die.”

“Nobody sends Bean anywhere,” said Peter, “and you know it.”

She whirled away from him and stalked out of the room. She would have slammed the door, but the pneumatics prevented it.

He had seen, though. The tears in her eyes.

She didn’t hate Peter. She wanted to hate him. But what she really was furious about was that her husband was dying and she had agreed to this mission because she knew it would be important. If it worked, it would be important. But it wasn’t working. It probably wouldn’t work.

Peter knew that. But he also knew that he had to talk to Caliph Alai, and he had to do it now if the conversation was to have any good effect. If possible, he’d like to have the conversation without risking the prestige of the office of Hegemon. But the longer they delayed, the greater the likelihood of word of his trip to Damascus getting out. And then if Alai rebuffed him, the humiliation would be public, and the office of Hegemon would be greatly diminished.

So Petra’s judgment of him was obviously unfair. If all he cared about was his own authority, he wouldn’t be here.

And she was clever enough to know that. She got into Battle School, didn’t she? She was the only girl among Ender’s Jeesh. That certified her as his superior—at least in the area of strategy and leadership. Surely she must see that he was putting the goal of preventing a bloody war above his own career.